


Patron of the Arts

by slipsthrufingers



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slipsthrufingers/pseuds/slipsthrufingers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Puck is a Royal, Rachel is a commoner. Inspired by the Royal Wedding, written for the drabble meme at the lj community: puckrachel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patron of the Arts

**Author's Note:**

> **Summary** : AU Puck is a Royal, Rachel is a commoner. Inspired by the Royal Wedding, requested by both and within minutes of each other at the drabble meme.

***

See, the thing is, he can pretty much have any girl he wants. He’s instantly recognisable, it’s one of the perks of being first-in-line to the throne, after all. Ever since his dad died when he was just a boy, he gets the big job when his Nanna dies. Even if by some _freak occurrence_ some girl doesn’t know who he is, he can charm the pants off anyone-- an added consequence of all the diplomacy required by his position.

It helps he’s damn hot, too.

But he’s long been bored by the women who simply throw themselves in his way. He’s not dumb. He knows they want to be the next Queen of King and Country. He knows that by marrying him they’d be fulfilling every childhood fairy princess fantasy they ever had. It’s tedious now, and only very rarely are they talented enough in bed to make up for the very clear social-climbing he has to tolerate in order to actually have any fun.

“It’s getting totally lame when they throw themselves at me. I’m bored! ” He whines, after landing for yet another diplomatic visit to another country in their dominion.

“Well. Lady Quinn has always had a soft spot for you.” his younger sister Sarah says to him, as they descend the stairs of their private jet. “And she’s holding onto her hymen like ma holds onto grudges, so it’d at least be a challenge for you.” They wave politely to the crowd gathered excitedly behind specially erected barriers and heavily armed police guards there to keep everybody safe and in their place. As he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he turns around to help her safely to the ground--they both know she’s perfectly capable of ascending and descending stairs on her own, but the media (and their people) love the protective older-brother shtick he pulls on occasions like this, and it helps preserve Sarah’s innocent little Princess image that she covets so badly, so they both play along.

“Pity she’s a royal bitc--”

She smiles at him brightly and squeezes his hand to cut him off. There are foreign dignitaries approaching them now, and they pop their conversation on hold until later. “Mr President,” Sarah says warmly. “Thank you so much for meeting us here in person!”

“How was your flight, ma’am?” The president says politely, taking his sister’s hand daintily by the fingertips.

“Wonderful. A little long, though thankfully I had my brother to keep me company,” She turns and smiles warmly up at Puck, and he laughs joyfully on cue.

“She’s exaggerating how entertaining I am--” He grasps the President’s hand with a cheeky grin, knowing the cameras are catching every minute of this informal exchange, “I slept for most of the flight.”

“And I did not-- I think I shall need more time tonight to rest before tomorrow’s festivities... Noah, could you attend the gala tonight in my place? I will love you forever?” She blinks her eyes bashfully, and even has the nerve to stifle a yawn politely behind a dainty hand. He may be able to charm anyone he likes, but it is truly his sister who is the masterful manipulator. There is much that he could learn from her, because despite him knowing that she’s only trying to buy more time for her own private _interlude_ with her male personal assistant (they both pretend he doesn’t know about it of course) she has a captive audience with the President standing right here and all their various staff milling around close enough to hear most of the conversation that passes-- reputations are built on rumours which are always most resilient when based on snippets of truth.

“Sure.” He says, and gives her a playful tug on the ear that is perhaps a little more aggressive than it looks (misdirection is key-- their smiles never waver an inch) He turns to the president and smiles. “You don’t mind my company for the evening instead, sir?”

“Not at all. I believe you’re the musician in the family anyway.”

“Well, I figure if I’m the patron of the arts, I should at least know a little about it myself.” Noah concedes, and they all are guided off together towards their awaiting armoured vehicles.

***

He is ushered from one monkey-suit into another for the gala-- a celebration of the great and varied fabric of musical theatre of both their countries and of course a chance to milk the very rich and very famous of all their money. He is sure to send Sarah a particularly nasty text message before he leaves their hotel for the theatre, which basically boiled down to (while peppered with several more _creative_ vocabulary choices): _You owe me, sis.”_

Her reply buzzes in his pocket as he settles into the limo: _Maybe you’ll find yourself a challenge there. Foreign girls are a different beast._

Not for the first time, he wonders how she is so extremely good at hiding the filthy dirty bitch she is from the general public when he’s carried the label of ‘playboy’ since he was in grammar school.

The gala itself is basically the same as every other benefit concert and charity gig he’s been to in about 5 years. A stout black girl takes the stage and belts out a spiritual show-stopper that is so powerful he can see the velvet curtains of his box seat vibrating a little. She’s followed by a young baby-faced young man singing a song that is traditionally a female part (to keep things interesting, and _modern_ of course) though it’s quite surprising that he can sing it all in the female register and after them it’s a medley of classic rock songs sung by the national winners of a school glee-club competition.

It’s the performer who comes out just before interval that catches his attention though. She’s in a classy black dress that finishes just above her mid-thigh, with her dark brown hair pulled back in a cascading ponytail, she grips her sparkly microphone and brings the audience to a stunned silence when she sings a raw, stripped back version of _Pure Imagination_ , with nothing but a simple piano glissando to accompany her. Noah is glad for the privacy of the special box that he has to himself-- The President and his family are in the one beside his, so he has every opportunity to stare unabashedly.

“Who was that?” He asks his page, when the curtains close, and the house lights return.

“Rachel Berry, Your Highness.” the page says politely.

“I’d love to meet her.”

The page bows subserviently, “I’ll arrange to have her brought to your box, sir.”

“No-- no need. I’ll visit her backstage, there is time before the next act.” He stands and smooths the lines of his dinner jacket with his palms.

“Of course, sir. If you’ll follow me.”

They take the service entrances in order to stay away from the gathering crowds, and the moment they enter the backstage area, the hustle and bustle of the cast and crew preparing for the next act does not pause to stop and stare, affording him one of his rare moments of anonymity. Or at least, he is ignored until someone glances at him and recognises the familiar set of his jaw.

“Your Highness...” The small baby-faced male soprano from before stops to stare, then falls into a deep bow. “What an honour!”

“I hope I’m not intruding, I came to share my congratulations on a wonderful first act with you all--” He says, eyes roving the dark, albeit crowded hallways for a glimpse of the small black dress or the woman wearing it. “It’s Mr Hummell, if I recall correctly?”

“You do, your grace!” The man blushes, and bows a little deeper.

“Mr Hummell, I’d love to meet Rachel Berry, her performance blew me away, and I’d love the chance to compliment her in person.”

“Of course, your excellency, if you’ll follow me right this way!” Hummell leads them down a side hall and around a corner til they reach a door with a huge gold star labelled ‘Rachel Berry’ plastered in the middle.

“Rachel,” Hummell calls through the door, rapping his knuckles smartly against the door.

“Kurt, go away,” a female voice snaps through the door. “We’ve been through this, don’t disturb me while I’m preparing for a performance.”

Kurt glances side-ways at him and Noah can see the blush rising up his neck. “You have a visitor, Rachel.”

“Kurt, I don’t care if it’s the King of England, I’m not to be disturbed.”

Kurt hesitates. “It’s not the _King_ , exactly...”

“Kurt, your practical jokes just aren’t as funny as you believe them to be.” There are footsteps loud and angry behind the door before it is wrenched open. “Prince Noah does not want to visit me persona--”

She stops mid sentence when she sees him standing there next to Kurt. She’s changed into a white satin robe, her hair is down, and her face has been messily washed of its stage makeup. She seems to realise all this at once, makes an odd squeaky noise, then slams the door in both their faces.

“I get that reaction a lot,” He says to Kurt with a bit of a smirk. “It’s no fun when you tell them you’re coming.”

“She’s not the best with surprises,” Kurt says with a shrug.

“I can hear you both, you know,” her voice squeaks from the other side of the door. “And I don’t appreciate being talked about behind my back.”

“Well I’d love to talk to you in person if you open the door again,” Noah says with a laugh. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

The door swings open. Her bare cheeks are flushed with embarrassment, but she does look a little ticked off. He think he likes that look on her. “And _I_ don’t fall for that ridiculous pick-up line when people give it to me at a bar, I’m certainly not going to lower myself to humour it simply because you’re a _prince_.”

“Well I’ll have to try a little harder then, won’t I?”

Rachel crosses her arms across her chest and scowls, “Why are you here?” She says, he sees Kurt’s mouth drop open in shock out of the corner of his eye.

“Rachel, he’s a _Prince_ ,” Kurt says reverently.  
“Yes, and apparently quite a rude one.” She lifts her wrist up to her eye-level and inspects a delicate silver watch for the time. “I only have fifteen minutes til my next call. I won’t delay my performance for anyone, not even a Prince.”

“I just wanted to tell you how wonderful I thought your performance was. And to wish you all the best for the second act.” He says. “And I’d love if you and your friend Kurt would join my sister and I at a luncheon we’re having tomorrow.”

“Yes. We’ll come.” Kurt cuts in excitedly, stepping between the two of them with a brilliant smile. “And I’m sure when Rachel has calmed down she’ll thank you for the compliment, and she’d say something about enjoying the rest of the show.

“You don’t speak for me, Kurt.” she says hatefully.

“I do right now. Shut up, diva.”

Noah can’t help but laugh a little. They really are both the epitome of melodramatic theatre nuts, but he stuffs his hands in his pockets and says with a nod: “Nice meeting you both. I’ll have someone contact you tomorrow with the details.”

With that, he turns and heads back the way he was lead, pulling his phone from his pocket as he ducks back out into the service hallway where the page had been waiting dutifully for his return. _You would’ve hated it. But thanks for manipulating me into this._ he sends to his sister when he arrives back in his box.

 _Sister knows best. So what’s the special girl’s name, then?_

 _Rachel Berry. You’ll meet her tomorrow._

 _You are kidding me, right? You’re gonna woo the biggest name in theatre right now?_

 _I like a challenge._

***

Hope you like! Please review!


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